Tales From the Crypt: Fantasy Realdoll Orgy — entry held over

If you’re into links of the sexually strange, then you are no doubt familiar with the Realdoll company. They make life-like, life-sized porn-star-bodied female fuck dolls out of silicone, complete with internal skeleton, posable bodies, pubic hair, eyelashes and more creepy-yet-fascinating details than I can include here. Check out their web site, where you can see the myriad options for creating your ideal girlykin, which may be what making babies will be like in 2050. (Honey, do we want head #5 with blue eyes or head #8 with green? Pubic hair or bare?) They have a new male doll, and especially unintentionally hilarious are the pics of him lounging in the tub, slack-jawed and unblinking, ready for action. I would absolutely love the opportunity to violate this doll ten ways until Sunday, and see just what silicone boy was really made of. Okay, I guess that would be silicone.

But still, if it weren’t for the hugenormous price tag, I’d love to roll around with both a male and female Realdoll for a weekend, even with an added real live person, and if anyone wants to sponsor me doing the deed and writing an article about this scenario (and will ship screener dolls), I’m up for the challenge. Hell, if people can get rubes to pay their ridiculous charge card debts via their web sites, and solicit donations to help them get dates or boob jobs (pop-ups, no pun), then there’s hope for my "Pervert Porn Reviewer Has Realdoll Orgy Article Fund."

At AVN in January, my publisher’s booth was across from the Realdoll booth, and damn if those people aren’t just super-nice. Plus it was fun to go over and chat with them about how they make the dolls and methodically squeeze a pair of dismembered silicone boobies at the same time with no one blinking an eye. I found it strangely calming.

The whole Realdoll idea can’t help but be macabre, yet arousing at the same time (though I find lesbian vampire erotic horror movies particularly compelling — an acquired taste, I admit). It was exciting, for instance, to find out that the dolls are made in these big cases that resemble coffins, lid and all, and also are trundled around in wheelchairs as they go from hair to makeup, to body paint, etc. The display at AVN was several dolls in a bar scene, which in the already surreal atmosphere was unnervingly real out of the corner of my eye, and in pictures I took the dolls look like real porn performers standing in the background, which isn’t surprising given how porn performers look so real.

But there’s creepy, and then there’s "Is anyone going to make a Realdoll horror movie?" Of course, I’d love to work on a porn film that was only acted by Realdolls. But since discovering the web site of the guy who performs surgery on Real Dolls, my mind is reeling. How do the dolls get injured? Then I found his Blue doll, and my imagination went into overdrive. Now what I want is a Realdoll made to look like Yvonne Craig as the green bitch in that old episode of Star Trek, where she does that dance for Captain Kirk.

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Manginas and Shenises

Whew. I have barely had a moment to sleep, let alone write entries, and that’s tough when I have entries piling up in my brain like the piles of my panties next to my closet that need to be washed.

The art show last Tuesday was great, though I worked a 13-hour day to make it happen. The Valencia store was packed until 10:30 pm, and many beer-drinking revelers listened to Extra Action music, watched their videos, and had dueling matches with sex toys. The band’s favorite sex toy by far was the Audi-Oh, the sound-controlled vibe, and they wanted to be official promoters of the toy, or maybe sponsored by the makers or something. That’s kind of perfect — skaters are sponsored by skate companies, snowboarders by snowboard companies, the Extra Action Marching Band sponsored by a sex toy company. Oh wait, that’s what my company is doing.

I went to a terrific party last weekend where I had an actual drunken exercise in anger management. Every year we have an unofficial SRL party in Oakland at the warehouse/shop belonging to two of our members, a female and male blacksmithing duo (who are not a couple). It’s not really an "SRL party," but lots of us attend and do what we do at parties, which is drink a lot and play with fire. Fireworks that is. This year there was a theme, a high school theme, which was really a transparent excuse for us all to dress like schoolgirls, teachers, school nurses, principals, janitors, cheerleaders, jocks and nerds. We all had to get "shots" (jello) and build homemade rockets, which were lit off and went in every imaginable direction. My thumb is still numb from getting it too close to a fuse. I dressed as a cheerleader with a really rotten attitude. I got to pester the very sexy nurse with questions like, "Can you get pregnant if you blow the football team?" I faked SARS to get more shots.

My attitude came to the fore when I went to pee in the unisex bathroom (for the second time that day). I was in there alone, did my business and was standing at the mirror fixing my lipstick when these two older guys walked in. They saw me and shouted, "whoah," and went out, slamming the door shut. They started talking about me outside the door and I could hear every word they were saying. They remarked about me being there, how they just can’t "do it" with a girl right there, because "it’s not like they’re handing out Viagra at the door or anything." I felt my anger rising — what the fuck does that mean, anyway? I mean, duh, what fucking dinosaurs with 1950’s mentalities still only see women as nonhuman sex objects? Who invited them? Clearly all the irony of the party was lost on them. So I slowed down my lipstick fixing and pretty soon they started pounding on the door. I told them to come in, that they were waiting for nothing, there was no line. That they could pee with me in there unless they had some kind of a problem. They came in and one rushed into a stall while the other stood in front of the urinal staring at the wall. I said, "I heard what you guys were saying out there, heard what you said about needing Viagra." Urinal guy said, "What!?" "I said, I heard you talking out there about needing Viagra. It’s not like when you come in to pee in here anyone’s going to be looking at your dick or anything." He said what again, so I repeated myself and left. Then I realized I had just berated a scared man with his dick in his hand while I was wearing a cheerleader outfit, pom-poms, pigtails and all. Next time I hope those guys barge in while I’m in a cheerleader outfit standing peeing at the urinal with my pee shooter. Then I can punch them both in the eye and run around them in tight little circles with my pom-poms shrieking "someone get the Viagra, these guys have to pee!"

I took my pee shooter to work at the Good Vibes store so that all could marvel at the wonders of urinary technology. It was clean and in plastic so no one would get hyper about germs. There was much excitement and exchanging of knowing looks, and someone asked me if I had bought a "shenis." What a gross name, I thought, then I said, "What a gross name. What’s a shenis?" Mother Mary in a sparkly rubber thong — they showed me. Then they made me look at a mangina. Then I found out that all the floor staff surveys had been turned in (see entry from 5/22), and I did not win the stupid prize for the stupid survey, and that someone else did, and I wanted to find the goody-two-shoes who won the prize and give them a wedgie while they wore latex panties.

There is a very underground group of boys and girls my age here in SF that have a very underground sex club. They have a secret mailing list that is absolutely hard as hell to get on, and their sex parties happen sporadically every few months at undisclosed locations and you can never find out where they are until you actually end up there (nor are they free). It’s pretty cool when you think about it, and it’s a nice way of keeping out gawkers and guys who are freaked out about peeing in front of women, and also creating a safe atmosphere. I called in a favor about a year ago to get on the list, and I’ve been on the list for some time but have never gone to a party, sort of being a virtual email list voyeur. From reading posts on the list I know that they’ve been making porn for a while at their parties, then showing the footage at the next party as loops. This is all done in the spirit of sexual adventure, affectionate pleasure seeking, equality and respect. I know this from reading everyone’s intelligent, mature, thoughtful and heartfelt posts on the list. It has made me feel really good about people seeking higher, smarter and more fun ways to express themselves sexually, which I really needed to be reminded of while I was researching my next book about the porn industry. Because sometimes during my research over the past year I saw things that made me upset, made me question my ability to honestly tell people that porn was a place where people with a brain and integrity could explore their sexuality, or at least feel good about jacking off to it. I got in a discussion that went sour with a close colleague in which I realized that she still sees women (especially women in porn) as sexual victims, not as wholly sexually autonomous people, and I realized that the minute everyone stops seeing women that way (and treating them that way), women will stop believing it. I went to porn conventions where I saw that the "mainstream" porn industry was suffocatingly conservative and homophobic, racist and sexist. I saw men and women at their worst, at the heart of which they all relied on the notion that sex is bad and shameful. That men are sexually simplistic. That women are sexual marionettes. C’mon people, what are we, ten years old? I had the hard hard job of seeing all this, clashing with my peers, and still telling people from my heart that porn is a fucking fantastic sex toy, which I actually believe because I still love to use it, and enjoy watching it. When it’s good, that is.

I saw some really hot porn tonight. I finally decided that I had to see why I’m still on this super-secret mailing list, so I went to a screening of scenes from several of their parties. And I have to say, I was astounded at the high quality, superior camerawork and incredible sex I saw onscreen. You could say it surpassed my expectations, which it did by far. I thought it would be spycam kind of stuff, and though one or two scenes were obviously in a room with other people around, it was excellently edited, storyboarded, had music that fit the mood perfectly and the people were laughing, playing, kissing, smiling, loving each other like nothing I’ve ever seen. It put all other amateur porn to shame, especially the porn made by my own company, which I think sucks by the way. The atmosphere of the screening was casual, lots of people, but they were all friendly and relaxed. I left early to come home and work, and when I left I noticed that I was walking through several of the people I had seen onscreen, who smiled politely at me as I thought "wow, I just saw you do that to him, and they did that to you, and…" I left with a smile on my face that brought me all the way home, one happy rotten cheerleader for porn.

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Now I Can Write Your Name in the Snow

Yesterday, a very interesting device arrived for me in the mail. Oops, I’m jumping ahead — let me back it on up* a little.

Last Thursday my floor shift at Good Vibes was one of those laugh so hard milk comes out your nose every five minutes kind of shifts. You see, we got in this apparatus, the name of which I forgot because we all dubbed it "the cock sock." It’s this almost-jock strap thingie that is a strip of wide elasitc (goes around the waist) with a black spandex pouch positioned right in front, so those who want to make a bulge where there is usually none can "pack" a soft dildo. This is to be worn under the pants, presumably inside underwear. Which confused me — if you’re wearing undies, why do you need to stuff your soft-rod into the ‘sock? Why not just the undies, or just a sock? Anyway, it felt kinda nice and squishy to squeeze, like squeezing a guy’s package but you don’t have to worry about squeezing too hard, and I liked massaging it, which really kind of freaked out my gay male coworker. Yet he couldn’t stop staring. Then two of the women I work with (in dresses, no less) decided to try the ‘sock on, over their dresses, and wing it around, telling each other that they "like it when your balls slap my ass, baby" and proceeded to demonstrate to the remaining customers why I think that our floor staff will someday wind up on America’s Most Wanted.

After work, we all needed beer, so we met up at the Eagle, a local gay male leather bar that is an institution. That night the Extra Action Marching Band landed in all their Tecate soaked glory and proceeded to a) share their beer with me, making me wasted, and b) hammered the crowd into ass-shaking frenzies playing and dancing on the bar, pinball machines, and lastly, the stage. There was even a naked Elvis impersonator. Here’s the rub: drink a lot of beer, and you must pee a lot of beer. The restroom was a cesspool that tried and tested all my powers of balance and thigh muscle control. Worse, I had to hear about the really cool "pee trough" that the guys were all going in, no fuss, no muss.

The next day I did a little research. And struck gold. Now I am the proud owner of a certified pee shooter, a device that women can use to pee standing up, and sans le papier, know what I mean? I saw it on this web site and couldn’t believe it could be true, but damn if it wasn’t five bucks and had won prestigious design awards and went on Antarctic trips with lady scientists. I coughed up the dough, it came in the mail yesterday, and, wow! With a little more practice, I’ll be swordfighting — okay, maybe not, but think of the possibilities.

Tonight I am working many many hours for Good Vibes, but it’s all my fault — and will be fun fun fun. Last year we marched in the SF gay pride parade with that notorious, trouble-making marching band without a school mentioned above, and won "Best Musical Contingent" in the parade. This photographer Anthony J. Hall came along for the ride and took almost 200 pictures, and with the help of another member of the band we put together a big art show of the pics — many of which are dirty, naughty, and not for those under 18. I hung the show with Carol Queen this morning (I hate mornings, but they’re extremely entertaining when you’re hanging out with Carol and she just got back last night from Portland’s live Masturbate A Thon).

Tonight, we’re having an opening party with me and Carol and the band, and it’s all just a hollow excuse to hang out on the Valenciat St. store from 8-10 and play with dildos and talk about the best lubes for slide valve brass instruments.

* back it on up: the name of a drink created after a funny experience in a seedy corner store. I was buying something and this old guy came in, bought some Ripple and a Sprite. The guy behind the counter asks him, "what do you call that?" The customer says, "I take it home to my lady and I call it ‘back it on up!’" Then he cackled like a very old alkie. Yikes. But what a great name for a drink. It’s equal parts pineapple, coconut, orange and mango, plus a squeeze of a lemon and a shot of nice rum. Garnish with pineapple and a cherry for color, or so you can make "cherry" jokes in reference to the drink’s name.

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Sperma Teeines — It Could Be Wurst

I should probably be resting my tired arms and hands (Sunday I worked at SRL on a jet engine and some assorted hydraulics), but I just can’t resist sharing the joy in my life that has become the daily interactions I have with my Good Vibes coworkers. At my desk, behind the towering stacks of she-male porn, beneath the books about female ejaculation, I hide and pretend I’m working on some really important, scientific piece of writing that surely the company cannot move forward without. I project the vibe of a porn writer scientist, slaving away tirelessly on things like gift guides that tell you how to give anal sex gift packs as bridal shower gifts. It’s very serious work, and I do my best to look really really busy as I contemplate the proper wording for describing she-male genitalia that is functional yet small, and still make it sound interesting to the consumer. Everyone stays away (tinfoil hat and toenail clipping collection notwithstanding), and this is good, because clearly the fragile fabric of the whole world is held together on my writing about pop shots, double anals and the proper lubricant for fisting.

While in the midst of my self-delusional porn writing tangents, and looking deeply contemplative while cruising the web for weird porn pictures for my web site, I received a Tiny Nibbles email. Like quite a few emails, it was addressed to "webmaster at (insert URL)." It was yet another site that wants a link. But I always check ’em all out and to my happiness and glee, it was a German DVD porn site. My day was picking up! I suddenly realized that everything is funnier in German! Alone at my desk, I then began giggling and laughing at the German words for different porn genres. For instance, "teens" are "teeny" or "teenies," which then turn into hilarious sayings like "anal teeny" and "disco teenies." At that moment, Thomas Roche called me to confirm something actually work related — how dare he?! The Good Vibes Magazine can wait! I told him about the site, sent a link to him, and here was the rest of our exchange:

From: Thomas
(Subject) re: got sperma teenies?

Oh my god, this is so wonderful. My favorite phrase is either "des linken Menüs" or "Diskrete und neutrale Verpackung." But "Junge Debutantinnen" is pretty cool.

From: Violet
(Subject) re: got sperma teenies?

what does all that mean?

From: Thomas
(Subject) re: got sperma teenies?

Well, I’m not entirely sure, I just think "des linken menus" sounds funny, especially with the umlaut. "Des" is a form of "the," so I think it means something about "the linked menus," though I have no idea what, exactly, that is.

>"Diskrete und neutrale verpackung" means "discrete and neutral packaging, "but for some reason it’s funnier in German. "Junge" is young, so "Junge Debutantinnen" is "Young Debutantes."

>"Blasen, Spritzen, Schlucken, frauen lustchen alles aus ihm heraus" means "blow, squirt, swallow, women hungry for everything from it," "it" presumably being ein sehr hohes inferno des throbbing Mann-Fleisches, das große sprudelnde Fluten des Dämpfens des Safts ausbricht.< (a towering inferno of throbbing man-meat which erupts great bubbling floods of steaming juice.) So you see how work is for me on a good day. I mean, discoveries like these hold the keys to our collective Karma, are super important to understanding why other cultures should be cherished for their comic value, and a revelation that porn movie names are just as bad in cultures who have better public education and universal healthcare. Plus I now know that with one click of the mouse I have the power to lie to any age check page in any language in the world. And really, that site is a whole lotta smiley happy fun for the whole family -- greased-up urinating disco teenies and all. I will link to them until someone tells me that the German words on the web site actually say bad things, and like people making porn with Bratwurst, must be stopped. Sorry if I offended anyone. Random advice: don't drink the SARS.

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Underrated Indy Films and my Favorite Jack Shack

The Sex Worker Film Fest was probably the most underrated, underattended film fest this year. I co-hosted a porn film clip show opening night and attended several of the films, and was utterly blown away by the quality of the movies and documentaries I saw. And saddened by the low attendance. The expertly made docs on everything from sex workers in Calcutta to lonely and surgified porn stars in LA blew me away, and made me realize that these films are vitally important to our culture — yet we will never see them on PBS, where they absolutely should be shown. We need this information, need to know that in Thailand 30% of women are prostitutes, and everyone needs to see what breast augmentation surgeries look like.

The latter comment is about the documentary, The Girl Next Door: The Stacy Valentine Story, which is impossible to find in any video rental store, but is an amazing, honest exploration of the porn industry through the eyes of a housewife-turned-porn-star. I really liked the film about Calcutta prostitutes and how they’ve turned the tables on the local gangs (Negotiating Sex Workers’ Rights: Calcutta 1997), but the Valentine movie was my favorite because it was the most revealing about the adult industry. The footage of porn shoots shows way, way more than any Frontline show would ever dare — they show you what it’s really like, from a female performer’s perspective. Because while most people see porn as a male commodity, I believe that it is actually a female experience.

I know I said that I’d tell you what films were used in the show I co-hosted with Carol, but to be honest, they weren’t my favorite scenes (I didn’t pick ’em). Quite a few were from Good Vibes’ porn company, and I don’t really think those films are watchable, though their contribution to porn’s race/gender issues are certainly valuable — but when I want to jack off, I want to jack off, you know? So sorry, I’m not telling. Unless you write me and ask. But I may be jacking off and you will have to wait until I am done for a reply.

Today I went over to City Entertainment on Folsom St. to take a picture under their famously humorous sign, they are a typical adult store with an arcade in the back (a "jack shack" as they call ’em). I’ve rented tons of videos over the past year from this fine establishment for research on my next book — they have your garden-variety selection, but also get a lot of new titles. I was lucky to get The Fashionistas when it hit the streets through them, and if you don’t mind the guys cruising each other, or the occasional over-excited het couple, it’s a decent place to shop for the nastier titles. I’ve had fun returning videos late at night on my way to parties (they’re open 24 hours), all dressed up — once on my way to a benefit for an injured coworker I brought back a stack dressed as a naughty nurse, and it was worth it to watch the heads peer out at me around the doors of the arcade booths — and then hide instantly! It was actually really fun to scare the masturbators. Made me want to do it again, and the sassy gay male cashier took Polaroids of me "as keepsakes." The staff there is really nice, and are quite funny.

I got there two hours after two shoplifters had inadvertently assaulted one of the nice staff members. The female cashier (whose shirt read "my type is not yours") told me that these two shady characters came in, and while she was attempting to help them (and watch them closely), one stuffed something under his jacket. The male cashier tried to stop the guy at the door, but he got shoved into the doorframe and got a nasty, bloody gash, and was taken away in an ambulance. The stolen item? Edible undies. And two hours later, when I was hearing the story, the cops still hadn’t shown up. I’ll bet they never did, it being a dirty nasty porn store and all.

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Sex Workers in Electrified Jackets

Well, as is with the usual organized chaos that surrounds both festivals and people in the sex industry, my plans at the Sex Worker Film Festival tonight have been changed at the last minute. I will not be introducing the films about the Brazilian/Italian tranny prostitutes at 8pm, but instead have been invited to co-host the midnight Sexsational Show with Carol Queen, which will surely be wet and squirmy piles of fun. Midnight film shows are very cool by nature, especially ones where two women are showing explicit sex scenes (of vintage and new porn) on a big screen . It’s at the Roxie tonight, so if you’re in San Fran stop by and join the party, bring your most irreverent comments and sarcastic sex-positive attitude, but if you can’t make it, I’ll post a list this weekend of all the films and scenes we’ll be showing.

Meanwhile, I had no idea that hot chicks read my web log. A sexily wacked smarty babe wrote me a really funny email about the GV survey I filled out (see below), and after she offered to put ham on my rash (which, alas, was a lie), I went to her web site and decided that Heathen is my dream girl. Don’t tell Susannah Breslin that she has become my dream love slave #2, though, or she might put my name in some scary bukkake short story or something.

Off the SRL wires, could the No-Contact Jacket be the invention to prevent random acts of violence against women? Or simply a way for me to electrocute myself every time I spill a beer on my boobs? An SRL member writes:

Actually, there are no plans for a male version.
[the jacket designer] has designed the jackets
strictly for the female form, with a princess cut to them.
The jacket actually looks and feels quite nice.
(his very cute girlfriend) tried on the prototype jacket, and even took a
few arcs to her own hand. She reports the experience
to be survivable, but just barely so. I kept a safe
distance, personally despising electric shocks.
The electric drive unit needs some upgrade work, as it
is only rated for one second bursts into free air — but it can deliver longer bursts into a human load.
I assume that the free air performance will be upgraded
if the jacket is ever brought into production.
The cleaning tag had an interesting instruction amongst
all of the standard precautions: DISARM BEFORE WASHING.

Lastly, being openly bisexual sure makes Alan Cummings (aka X-Men 2’s Nightcrawler) damn sexy. Makes you want to ask Tom Cruise (Mr. homophobia litigious himself) what the big fucking deal is anyway, know what I mean? Thanks for the link, Daze Reader.

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I Like Good Vibes Customers Because They Taste Just Like Chicken

Today I worked a floor shift at one of the stores and had so much fun that I think I shot coffee out my nose at least twice. First of all, after one too many "blonde" moments, the staff officially named me "Captain Obvious." I think I actually said, while we were contemplating what we’d do if we had shopping carts and three minutes in a supermarket (like in those contests), that I’d "go straight to the frozen food — because you can freeze that stuff!" What a revelation. They were shocked to find out this news about frozen food, and I was shocked that anyone in their right mind had ever offered me a book contract.

We also were given these very hippie, feel-good surveys for store staffers about what we like about our jobs and stupid stuff like that. I filled one out that I will surely get in trouble for. It went like this:

What do you love about our customers?

They taste just like chicken.

What do you wish our customers knew before they came to the store?

That sometimes the penis goes in the vagina, and that I have an itchy rash.

How do you feel when you leave the store? (tired, happy, proud, energized)

Sore and chafed from the anal stretching.

What advice do you like to give our customers?

That the Kama Sutra Pleasure Garden massage oil does not work on itchy rashes.

What three things do customers ask you the most?

1) How are the sandwiches?
2) Does that tinfoil hat get hot?
3) Would I please move away from the exit?

What do you dislike about our customers/what do you find problematic in your sales position?

The customers look afraid when I talk to them.

How do you deal with this issue?

1) I bear down and fart really loud.
2) Then I lay down under a table.
3) I ask if anyone wants a date.

What makes you interested in working in sales?

I have a really big vagina.

What makes you interested in the field of sex education?

I can shoot golf balls really far out of my really big vagina.

I signed mine "Penny Ante." Okay, I don’t have a really big vagina, a tinfoil hat, nor can I make my pussy into a cannon, but I guess in reflection now I know why I’m always getting in trouble with the serious people (management), and why I get along really well with everyone else. But overall it’s been a semi-nerve wracking week, what with final edits going on with my next book, the reading for Thomas Roche and Alison Tyler last Tuesday (great attendance, fun event), and the gig tomorrow night.

I got asked at the very last minute to be the host opening night at the Sex Worker Film Festival, tomorrow (Friday 5/23, 8pm). Good Vibes is co-sponsoring the fest and I’ll be introducing the "best of the fest" movie, a very interesting-looking film about transsexual Brazilian sex workers and their pilgrimages to Italy, the emerging capital of tranny prostitution (look out Brazil, the Pope’s wooing your boygirl sex workers). For my MC-ing, I get a weekend pass to the fest, and I’m extremely excited about catching this one film I’ve been trying to see for ages, "The Girl Next Door: The Stacy Valentine Story." This is a doc about a cornfed housewife-turned-porn star from respected documentation Christina Fugate. It’s explicit and disturbing (graphic sex/graphic surgery), so it’s impossible to find in our Puritan era, but it sounds like a pretty culturally important flick. I’m nervous about getting up in front of all those people tomorrow, but happy about seeing that film.

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